


lost be my heart to the siren's seas

by KesaKo



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: "Erik is a cruel beast and Charles is a witty flirt" kind of story, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, BAMF Charles, Charles You Slut, Charles is half-Leto Atreides, Erik Being Cocky, Erik is a Sweetheart, Hedonist Charles, Honestly Charles, M/M, Pirate Courting, Pirates, Sharks, Slavery, Slow Burn, Smitten Erik, With A Twist, ahoy, and Erik is 110 percent his teasing First Class self, but also McBeth-dark, even though it's a One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 03:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13022523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KesaKo/pseuds/KesaKo
Summary: Sailing on the high waters of the Silken Sea are Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr, two (in)famous mutant pirates who navigate between the Two Crowns, Genosha and Westchester. Gold, silk and slaves oftentimes drive them to compete in the plundering of targeted ships… until a more peculiar prize comes into play.Many legends pertain to both captains, but the one that starts with the tumultuous day they met has yet to be told.





	lost be my heart to the siren's seas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madmalina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madmalina/gifts).



> **For the prompt:** _"Charles and Erik are both pirates (Modern day, ancient day, middle ages, in space... Up to you!) who seem to constantly get in each other's way._  
>  _This one day they both decide to capture the same ship…"_  
>   
>  Thank you dear Madmalina for this amazing prompt! I hope this modest story can live up to your expectations! I know I had a lot of fun writing it. And now I have a whole pirate!Cherik world inside my head!
> 
> [ I shall thank my beta and friends when the authors are revealed, because you might be able to tell who I am otherwise ;) ]
> 
> Jump on the ship, lads and lasses, we're setting a course for Cherikland!

 

 

##  ** lost be my heart to the siren’s seas **

 

*

 

When my days were the bolstering war cries of the wind, which howled in victory in the wake of another successful battle, I was looking for you;

When my nights were the liquored delirium of friendship and women, mingled with the addictive feeling of perilous freedom, I was looking for you;

When I was perched alone by the figurehead, gazing at the stars that whispered and trembled under the wet, jet black veil of the moonlit sea, I was looking for you

All my life, before all this, even before it made sense to sail away… When our lives were so startlingly dissimilar… I was looking for you.

 

*

 

 

*

 

Nimbly crouching down on the sturdy guardrails, Captain Charles Francis Xavier gazed into the water with a hand distractedly hooked in the frayed, hard rope of the ratlines. His simple yet bespoke off-white linen shirt clung to his spine where sweat soaked through it, like rivers pooling into lakes between the ridges of a mountain. Otherwise, the large shirt swelled with air and gently slapped his skin whenever the capricious wind veered.

The wind was, after all, a notorious Don Juan.

Charles had foregone his black beaver-hair tricorn to let the breeze ruffle his hair and cool down his overheated scalp and body; thus, without any jacket to denote rank, his tight yet supple brown leather pants looked particularly _mundane._ In truth, he resembled your average ship’s boy that way — all youth and clever ambition without any sourness of character in sight — but the crew was used to it.

Their enemies, however, were not. They often never knew what hit them when Captain Xavier stood and unleashed his powers against the poor lads who thought they ought to go after Logan. Logan who, admittedly, looked infinitely more intimidating than a blue-eyed, clean-shaven will-o-the-wisp with pompous manners.

“How utterly fascinating.”

“Hey, Charles,” Logan called out across from the poop deck — it was a real improvement from calling him “bub”, even though the mutant reverted to a neutral “Captain” whenever the situation called for it — “get up here, would ya? We’re gettin’ close. Are ya listenin’ to me? Feak.”

With an audible grunt and a flourish of increasingly menacing swear words, Logan strode briskly to the main desk where Charles was waiting for him. The stench of alcohol and sweat that invariably clung to the man’s dirty clothes preceded him like a harbinger.

 _That man is a born pirate_ , Charles thought with amusement as he sat down on the guardrails, one leg hanging four good yards above the water. Quickly, however, his attention went back to the dark, long shapes lazily undulating in the sea. It was mesmerizing. Their predatory stealth filled him with as much fascination as dread. It wasn’t unlike watching a snake dance in the desert, or having criminal conversation with someone’s alluring wife in front of her husband, or playing Backgammon in filthy sheets with a defeated pirate. All of which delighted him.

“Charles,” Logan repeated crisply — with a long-suffering patience that the mind-reader knew he didn’t actually possess.

“Have you seen them, my friend?” He asked without turning around. Oh, his voice sounded fairly intense and excited indeed, even to his own ears. “Did you know sharks can hear a fish swimming one mile away, and can smell one drop of blood in a million drops of water? They’re quite amazing creatures, aren’t they? We’re so close to the shore. I’ve never seen them swimming so near the cliffs of Genosha.”

“Ya know what that means. If they’re here…”

“Oh, I do know. He’s probably nearby. Let’s hope we’ll beat him to it. That cargo is worth a fortune, and let’s not talk about the slaves themselves.”

“Aye, that’s a rather nice booty, so let’s make sure _Raven_ is shipshape for the battle, yeah?”

Charles patted his sturdy ship fondly, a faint smile curling up the corners of his lips. He didn’t miss the way Logan’s thoughtfully appraised his yearning gaze. “My sister is always down for a good fight. You needn’t worry.”

“Listen, lad…” He sighed, like the Old Salt he was, which Charles respected. “Just suit up.”

“Have we lost a single battle since I became your captain?” He replied, but right when Logan was about to answer — something along the lines of “No, Captain, ye’re right. Get off here, though, we wouldn’t want ye to lose yer legs to the fish so young.” — Alex came running to them.

“Cap’n!” He called, panting; Charles turned his head over his shoulder to see the blond pirate’s enthusiastic features. “Harbour in sight!”

“Aye, now it’s time, Charles. I’ll —”

“There’s no need,” Charles interjected, his gaze returning to the distant shore where smoke wafted and waved in the air like a signal telling them to kindly fuck off, “we’re too late. He’s pillaged the place already, that ruthless bastard. Sometimes I wonder if he hasn’t trained the sharks to smell us.”

How utterly frustrating that he could never feel the mind of the mysterious, infamous pirate. Damn that psychic-proof hat of his! Everything he knew about the man came from the tales told by his crew and local folks in ports; Captain Lehnsherr was a merciless, cruel mutant, barely a man. Some said his mother had lain with a shark and gave birth to this monstrous offspring, who had only an intimidating row of teeth to show for a mouth. When Lehnsherr put his hands on a ship, he applied to the letter the famous “No quarter!” and slaughtered everyone on the spot, slaves and children included. Their corpses were fed to the army of sharks that hungrily followed the trail of blood which extended beyond his impressive ship like the stained train of a bloody bride. Positively shuddersome.

Charles suspected some of his people would prefer straight out walking the plank than falling into that gruesome pirate’s hands. His own stomach sometimes lurched in horror, coiled in sheer fear at the mention of Erik’s most savage acts of violence. Yet, he was probably even keener on meeting him than Logan was — Logan, who had sworn to pop the infamous pirate’s head off with his adamantium claws.

The situation was fairly recent, probably six lunar cycles at best. Ever since they’d been treading in the same waters. By pirates’ standards, they’d been getting under each other’s feet for a fair amount of time now, but they had never managed to face one another. There were, however, bigger fish in the sea, and the mind-reader didn’t think the mutant pirate and his crew would hunt them down anytime soon.

When the news of their unfortunate lateness to the party spread among his crew like a hope-stifling wildfire, causing many a thwarted curse, Charles leaped to his feet and grabbed a rope from the ratlines. Immediately, all eyes rose to him and an expectant silence replaced the maudlin thoughts that swathed their minds.

He addressed the crowd of disheartened pirates, “Don’t be saddened, my friends! The journey hardly stops here! If sharks can smell one drop of blood in a million drops of water, Erik the Red can feel how thirsty we are for a fight! Tomorrow, we shall set sail again to plunder the next ship coming our way. But tonight…”

He paused, his mouth curving into a naughty little smile. Already an excited tremor was running among his crew.

“Tonight, we will spend the nights in warm beds. Men and women are on me! Someone fetch the rum! Set a course for the nearest inn!”

A unanimous roar answered him. Charles grinned, and then laughed in surprise as he ended up carried to the center of the crowd. An odd sort of bubbling happiness came soothing his wounds. The ones he already knew by heart, which had become indented scars that he wore like a sailor’s medals; it also soothed the murmuring gap in his soul, although he had no awareness of that one yet.

 _“What do you see in the stars, Charles?”_ It said, as he cheered and shouted at the top of his lungs later that night. _“The sky above lies waiting and the sea laps at your heart, luminous in the dark, but still you wade in a chant of loneliness. Why does the sea make you so sad?”_

Do you see, Erik? Even then, I was looking for you.

 

*

 

His eyes slowly roamed over the group of slaves crammed into the dark, moist cargo hold. Down there, the burgeoning swell of the angry tide was frighteningly resonant, unsettling and chilling as a wolf’s howl. Constant goosebumps made people’s hair stand on end. They seemed to be aching to flee just as much as their owners.

It wasn’t rare for children and grown men alike to weep in that place where they spent nights, and days which felt like just another night, for no beam of light ever pierced through the depths of the moody ocean. The one thing to leak through the endlessly creaking wood was sea water. It seeped quickly to the floor, like so many droplets of distress. Presently, the only source of light came from the flickering lantern held by Captain Erik Lehnsherr’s subordinate. It pitched at least as much as the ship itself, painting the drained face of the slaves in fleeting shadows.

There were forty-two of them. He hadn’t expected to find so many. Good thing they had.

With a last look to the shivering little humans crumpled in a miserable heap of exhaustion at his feet, Erik the Red declared dispassionately, “No water for the children.”

And he turned away.

As an afterthought, he stopped in his tracks, and added, “Bring me the mutant ones.”

The heavy trap door squealed shut with a grim finality.

 

Once in his personal cabin, Captain Lehnsherr passed by his sturdy wooden desk with a glance to the overlapping maps where knives and metal pikes small as toothpicks marked strategic positions. The unnerving sight merely served to make him scowl petulantly. By the time the sound of light, stumbling footsteps approached his door, Erik had already taken his personal stash of dragon juice bottles out of their rusty chest.

He ordered the children in, handed them the beverage and, after inquiring after their powers — most of them were too young to manifest — he told them to hold on downstairs till dawn. They would be out of fire range by then. Even Shaw’s best fleet couldn’t hope to rival against the _Magneto_ ’s enhanced speed. For now, he couldn’t risk civilians’ lives on his galleon, so the cargo hold would do. It wasn’t, by any means, the first time he had done this.

Even the boldest of the children hesitated when he handed them each a bottle by the neck. Admittedly, the writing was partly covered by a fine layer of dust which was rancid enough to make one want to sneeze, and it was impossible to know what the bottles contained by sight alone. Not that slave children were likely to know how to read in the first place, Erik thought. Especially not the Genosha royal language. No one but the Two Crowns' elites could, though wealthy merchants were ambitious enough to try and learn it. In time, it would reach the lower classes. Then, the aristocracy would find new socially codified ways to exclude the slaves from the ruling circles once more. Erik had himself learned to make out some words through years of pillaging and too much time trying to educate himself.

“It’s just fruit juice.” He said, shaking the bottle once. “Dragon juice.”

The mutant children widened their eyes in wary surprise. The dragon fruit, remarkable for its sweet, honey-like blue flesh, was rare and expensive on the coasts of Genosha. But all the drinking water had turned bad in a matter of a fortnight aboard the _Magneto,_ and he couldn’t possibly hide the rancid taste by pouring a thumb of rum in kids’ bowls.

When none of them moved. A trickle of annoyance ran down Erik’s neck.

“Share them with the others, I only own ten bottles of it, no more. It should be enough until we get to the island tomorrow. You’ll need to walk and start unpacking immediately, so take your rest now.”

It took one of them spotting the flourish of small tattoos on his hand to trust him.

She reached out tentatively. Erik recognized two symbols: house servant, and silk threader. Lucky one.

In the end, they took the bottles like dogs grabbing food from human hand; cautiously, stealthily. With incredible speed, once the decision made. Rabid children — used to stealing and getting a good hiding for it. Broken children with unbent spines. They’d tear apart that world at his side when they get older.

They disappeared with force, _"Thank you, Captain.”_ and _“We’ll be fine, Cap’n, thanks again.”,_ but already Erik had dismissed them to go back to analyzing his maps.

As the leader of the next revolution, he had other issues to tend to. The Siren was one of those.

The last rays of a coral-tinted sunshine warmed his oak desk, painting the battered leather maps in flattering hues of red and yellow. Despite today’s victory, Erik wasn’t willing to rest on his laurels anytime soon — he frowned again, considering their next move.

Focusing on their current position, the pirate’s weathered mind easily overlooked the Westchesterian language obscuring the names of the cities, ports, cliffs, and rivers that covered the Two Crowns; the two main kingdoms flanking his ship were clearly visible. Owing to their C-shaped shores, which joined at a pointed tip to surround almost completely the large expanse of water between them, these two prosperous lands were also known as _the Hooks of the Silken Sea_. They towered above any other territory in the known world. Between them, they controlled and were responsible for more than nine-tenths of the region’s commercial trade.

In a world where the main currency of the elites were soft silk and slaves — mutant ones insofar as it were possible — it wasn’t hard to guess what kinds of _goods_ crossed the sea.

The ship hissed menacingly when Erik tightened his anger around her metal frame. _Shaw_ , the iron-hot vibration seemed to curse. The crew was probably looking up and around in apprehension… or with a casualness conferred by habit; Captain Lehnsherr’s past was known to all here, and his bad temper was renowned across the Silken sea.

Today, they had successfully rescued a Genoshan cargo of slaves heading south. Once they were out of firing range, they would all celebrate finding new recruits for Captain Lehnsherr’s future army. They’ll set sail for the hidden island where his subordinates would train them to become soldiers. Those who weren’t fit for battle and plundering — usually weak humans — would help to build the fortress and provide food supply or craft weapons.

His eyes wandered over the main map. No trace of the Siren for the time being, but that could change at any moment. Better face the waves for today.

Nodding to himself, Captain Erik Lehnsherr steeled his grip on the _Magneto_ to make it change course for the Southeast; the galleon winced and wailed like a dark, metallic cetacean. On the main deck, his crew started to mill around on cue, barking orders, running from one end to another with hooves-heavy stomps.

As soon as Erik exited the captain’s cabin to step on the quarterdeck, Azazel materialized at his side in a puff of scarlet smoke. The satanic colour of his skin along with his strict, fitted black uniform clashed with the white outfit of the woman he had brought with him.

“What?” He enquired, already exasperated.

“Blimey,” Emma Frost scoffed with mock-stupefaction, “thank the Gods it’s a good day, otherwise we could think you’re being gloomy again.”

“Don’t ye talk that way to the Cap’n, Emma.” Azazel scolded in an unhurried slur; Erik wasn’t surprised to see them both sneering a second later. “He hasn’t paid me yet.” The mutant added.

 _“_ What did you _want?”_ Erik repeated, with the rumbling of thunder in his voice. If their mutations weren’t so crucial to battles, he would’ve fed the sharks with their bodies years ago. Trustworthy mind-readers and rifters were hard to come by. Not that he truly trusted any of his fellow pirate brothers and sisters. His psychics-proof black tricorn rarely ever left his head.

“Ye’re not gonna like it,” Azazel warned.

Emma rolled her eyes when he fell silent to let her drop the news. “He bested us to Sankt Sebastian. We were so close this time I could almost feel him. The entire place is wrecked, no one remembers the colour of their betrotheds’ blind cheeks. But all ten mutant slaves vanished. He must’ve sung quite beautifully to rip their minds apart like this.”

Captain Lehnsherr’s teeth almost ground in irritation when an uncharacteristic respect pierced through Frost’s words.

“Bilge-sucking Siren.” He muttered under his breath.

They’d been pulling the rug out from each other more and more often these days.  It was starting to look like a coward's war. Or a pirate’s courtship. One that’d soon end with a sword skewering organs. Unfortunately for Erik, they couldn’t go retrieve the mutant slaves at the moment.

“Let the Exiled Prince enjoy his last trick.” He reluctantly decided. The sour twist at the corner of his lips showed enough of his bitterness that neither of his subordinates teased him.

Erik turned around and raised his voice as he felt the air charging with pulsing electricity, “Batten down the hatches! Get inside, brothers! There’s a storm brewing, and I won’t give an allowance to your whores if you get fried by lightning!”

When deep cackles answered him, Erik grinned wildly and jumped swiftly to the main deck to help tie down the sails. When the first whistling wave hit the ship in a deafening slap, he was the last man standing out there, ignoring the elements to secure the knots. His resolve did not falter. In his pitching cabin, a bolt briefly lit up one of the outdated Westchesterian maps.

On the West, the Kingdom of Genosha stretched beyond the limits of the penciled sketch. The name of the tyrant Sebastian Shaw appeared in a gilded calligraphy next to the capital city, Korolevstva. Slimmer, smaller in size and influence compared to the arid territory of Genosha, Westchester however looked greener and more opulent than its neighbor.

In the top-right corner, a beautiful sketch of the Royal family tree of Westchester went back to the 4th century. At the bottom of it, one could read :

 _“Brian Francis Xavier, first of his name, King of Westchester._  
_Sharon Marcia Xavier, first of her name, Queen of Westchester._ _  
__Their son, Charles Francis Xavier, fifth of his name, High-Prince and Heir to the throne of Westchester._

_May the Gods bless them with a long and painless Life, for they are our Beloved Rulers.”_

 

Splitting through the painting of a blue-eyed baby who smiled a bright, toothless smile, a blunt knife slashed the leather decisively.

I’m sure you know, Charles — after all, you’ve been able to read the embers of my crumpled heart from the start. Even then, I was breathlessly aching towards you.

 

*

 

A full lunar cycle elapsed in rather the same fashion; Charles Xavier's pirate crew ofttimes cut Captain Erik Lehnsherr short, ending his savage streaks of sabotaging Shaw’s fleet and other random ships which the mutant pillaged to build his own army. The opposite occurred just as much. A sick satisfaction had run through Erik’s blood when he’d realized that he had stolen a cargo of gold right under the pirate prince’s supposedly posh nose.

Yet it remained that the two of them had never crossed paths. Given the man’s reputation, Erik doubted he made a profit out of slave trade, even if one could hardly trust the folks’ tales to make one’s opinion. Still, he never really considered the powerful mind-reader his true enemy. Or at least, not nearly as much as Shaw was. A rival, perhaps.

Captain Lehnsherr didn’t know how to feel about him, but he wasn’t too concerned about that fact; hesitancy had rarely ever slowed his blade in the past.

When the rhythmic, conspiratorial whispers of the inn’s storyteller started to relate the famous myth surrounding the rising pirate, Erik pricked up his ears despite himself. It was usually hard to hear anything in this kind of establishment, but sailors, whores, and unhappy husbands all fancied a good story, allowing a relative silence to settle over the warm press of drunken strangers. Nursing his drink, Erik remained alone sitting at his table. The voice rose at his back, in such a way that he could pretend not to be listening in.

“They say his ship pierced through the shroud of fog to flirt with our shore less than a fortnight ago, but the barbarian Erik the Red had already slaughtered King Shaw’s soldiers and everyone else on board, including the dogs. His shark offspring feasted on the corpses of children for days.”

Had he been one to roll his eyes, Erik would’ve done so at this moment. He genuinely didn’t know how to get rid of those blasted sharks. Maybe he should stop cleaving Shaw’s men to the brisket and kicking them into the Mother Sea.

Hard to enforce that idea when his men always enjoyed the show of a filthy scallywag agonizing.

“It’s the widows who see him first, they who stand by the cliffs to mourn the death of their lowly husbands. But, even if he can be seen scuttling the most expensive and most beautiful lasses in inns...”

Giggling, the prostitutes chimed in to cheer excitedly, _“Oh, Captain Charles!”_

Erik could hear the leer in the speaker’s voice as he continued, “They say he prefers fucking raw the captains of the ships he boards! Sucking out their minds to feed and strengthen his magic. That’s in part why they call him the Siren. Not a soul in the Two Crowns can escape the alluring charm of his wicked powers.”

“He don’t need ‘em to make feet with children’s stockings with me!” A female voice in the back shouted, making the other women laugh. “Lorelei’ve seen him, I’d _give him_ three pennies to kiss his whore pipe!”

Captain Lehnsherr continued draining his spiced ale silently while everyone went one further on the topic. The idea that he could be charmed and seduced like a trophy by that entitled, dandy of a captain made him uneasy. He damn well intended to keep his protective hat on the day he’d meet the mutant.

The storyteller rose his voice above the chaos, and everyone fell silent again.

“They say an eerie mist follows his ship wherever his crew sets sail, and the long, distorted cry of a creature can sometimes be heard in the distance. Foolish pirates who have tried to pursue him have instead lost their dignity, for his red lips and blue eyes can soften even the hardest of hearts. Only the Goddess of strife could ever dream of hurting him. Indeed, his soft face doesn’t belong to a pirate. They say —”

“They say he’s a prince!” The same woman from earlier interrupted. Her blaring voice making it fairly clear she was already three sheets to the wind.

“They say he’s a prince,” the old story teller continued in a whisper, forcing the customers to lean in and drink the secret which Erik had taken whole lunar cycles to verify — Selling back the pirate to his motherland, handcuffed and gagged, was in talks — “born on the other end of the Silken sea, where the blood of the last dragons fed the soil to become flowers and juicy fruits. Westchester used to be a flourishing land, until the Prince betrayed his stepfather the King Marko to flee to the sea with all the royal gold. They say he even stole the Divine Light of the Gods which maintains peace in the world. He sold it for a fast ship and…”

At this point, Erik stopped listening. Catching the barman's eye, he silently gestured for another drink and some entertainment.

As luck would have it, he learned later that night that Sebastian Shaw was to take a bride which would be sent by boat from Westchester. A painting of the adopted princess’ blue skin had struck him many years ago, so he easily recalled the name of Raven Darkholme. Erik saw the perfect opportunity to learn everything he needed to know about Shaw’s strongest ally, Kurt Marko.

If someone knew court secrets and would be of use to get to Shaw, it would be her.

Before the first liquid beams of sunlight could ricochet across the sea, glinting like the eyes of a tiger slowly waking, the _Magneto_ was ripping through the high waters. Heading East.

Around the same time fifty nautical miles North, the _Raven_ did the same.

 

*

 

A long, foreboding cry sliced through the stilted afternoon air. It had the haunting, teeth-clenching quality of a handsaw slashing glass.

“Feak! Someone shut the blasted lad up! I’m gonna make ‘im kiss the Gunner’s Daughter as soon as he’s feaking back down here if…”

“Language, Logan!” Captain Charles Xavier interrupted brightly in passing — he otherwise paid his growling pirate friend no heed and went on giving a hand on one end or the other of his boat.

Smartly-dressed as he was for today’s battle, Charles seemed the personification of correctness and refinement themselves. Shiny round buttons and broad stripes of gold adorned the navy blue velvet overcoat he wore over an equally long white coat. Despite a cloudless sky, bright turquoise in the blazing sun, a thin, white silk scarf coiled around the captain’s neck to disappear under his clothing. However, his movements didn’t appear hindered in any way as he carried himself with grace and swiftly ducked one of the mast’s beams that whooshed his way.

The whistling air ruffled his hair a bit more.

It was in these moments the crew were reminded that despite their Captain's love of strong drink, soft sheets, and warm company — despite his fervent, idealistic, belief in a peaceful world where all mutants could be free and respected as equals — Charles Xavier was, in fact, of royal blood. Both arms folded behind his back, he bore himself with rigorous honor and pride. It was so natural a look on him, in fact, that one didn’t know if it was innate or if his high-bred education came back to him every time he was presented with a reminder of his past.

The same discordant cry echoed once again above their heads, loud enough to nearly burst eardrums. Half the crew swore aloud this time, so Charles put two fingers to his temples and said, _Come back, now, Sean. No need to spell it out to my step-father that we’re coming._

The bird-like silhouette which flew over them veered forthwith, roughly creating the shadow of a small dragon landing clumsily on top of the Crow’s nest with a final shriek.

 _Aye, Captain. Roger!_ Banshee answered; if he was disappointed to get back to Earth, he didn’t show it. _But I think I just saw another ship along with the big-ass one carryin’ Raven. They were gettin’ real close to it. Far closer than we are. A black galleon. Tons of mutants inside._

Not good. Not good at all. Charles forgot all about his smooth bearing when a solid ball of fear dropped like a stone in his stomach. It couldn’t be! Turning round, he deftly jumped on the sturdy railguards to gaze into the horizon. Raw strength and intelligence determined who became a pirate ship’s captain — with regards to mutants, the one with the most powerful abilities usually became the leader. If it was a _mutant ship_ just like theirs, then…

“Ororo!” Charles called hastily. Her name came out more strained than he intended it to be.

Without another word his young lieutenant scaled the ratlines to reach the Crow’s nest. Lifting her arms, expression smooth and focused, she began to slowly unleash her powers. Soon enough, a heavy, timeless mist grey as sorrow was concealing them. Time ceased to flow for a few seconds.

_Ororo, we need to go faster than that._

Storm picked on his anxiousness and instantly set herself to flirt with the wind. Aboard the ship, everyone tensed as Charles wordlessly scanned their surroundings.

“Eh. What’s the matter, bub?” Logan eventually asked from behind him.

“There’s something wrong.” He answered, frowning. He couldn’t… “There’s another ship. Pirates, they’re here for my sister. We’re so close now, and I still can’t… Someone… Someone’s blocking me. I think they have a mind-reader, but he or she is not in charge.”

If they had a mind-reader… Then, just how strong was their captain? Charles swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry. He couldn’t lose Raven.

“I think… I think it’s him.” His voice sounded strangely flat.

Just as the realization was starting to settle in, Alex’s voice rose by the figurehead.

“Sharks!”

Everyone hurried to the railguards at the same time to peer into the depths of the dew-blanketed sea. Here they were; mere shadows undulating under the ship, they swarmed and swam over each other in their haste to find food, like a net of desperate sardines. The sharks obviously thought they would be the prey.

Charles stared at them for a few seconds. _Erik the Red is here,_ his mind supplied dumbly, trying to process the information, _I need to get to Raven before that bloodthirsty bastard does. He hates the King of Genosha more than anyone else, only the Gods know what he’ll do to his future bride._

“Ahoy, my friends!” Charles shouted asudden, loud enough to be heard, and louder still to raise their spirit and fill their hearts with strength. His friends were already looking up to him with expressions that ranged from grim determination to thinly controlled impatience. “Prepare to fight! They’ll be upon us in moments, and now… Not only do we have to fight our way through Marko’s army, but also through the blasted crew of Erik the Red! Spare a life when you can and put your own safety before anyone else’s, those are my only orders. My crew won’t help feed those blasted sharks. Ororo, stop concealing us, I want to draw their attention away from Raven. Logan, up on the poop deck.” He knew Wolverine would run and jump on the Westcherian ship as soon as he got the chance. He’d do it even faster now that he had the opportunity to tear Erik Lehnsherr apart. “Sean, back up in the air, go destroy their masts, my young friend. I’ll stay here to try and stop those pricks.”

Charles had whispered the last sentence for himself, seeing as the resulting commotion had stifled his words. However, as soon as the fog dissipated, he was finally able to see for himself the chaos that resonated in his mind with sharp cries of pain and triumph.

The _Magneto_ was almost as big as the largest galleon of the Westchester armada. Flanking the royal navy’s left side, the imposing black ship emitted its own ominous aura of inevitable death and loss. Every mutant who jumped on the soldiers looked just as mad and pitiless. And there were so many mutants! So many powers at work, it looked like a firework of the most gruesome kind, with the resounding cries of the wounded. But still Charles couldn’t locate Lehnsherr, no matter how hard he tried, and cursed, and tapped the railguards with exasperation. Damn his psychic-proof hat!

“Oh, just you wait, you bloody fucker!” Charles swore again, before changing targets. He’d bring down that filthy murderer if he had to give his last breath for it.

And then, in a blink of an eye, he found Her. His sister. Oh, Raven, his sweet, sweet and fierce Raven! Charles’ eyes teared up on the spot when the dearly missed feeling of her precious mind connected to his. It had been five years already, five years since his twenty-first birthday. She’d been an unruly little girl, and now… Charles’ mouth parted on its own under the emotion, but he quickly shut it to grit his teeth when he saw what was happening to her.

Kurt’s men, everywhere. Fighting against grinning pirates around her tightly bound body. She was trying her best to set herself free, rolling out of danger and looking for a way out with sharp amber eyes. How resourceful. Charles hoped Marko had let her continue her sword fighting training, but given as he had sold her as a mere _slave_ , he doubted he had allowed her to do much more than breathe and eat.

 _Hang on tight, Raven, we’re coming to get you._ He transmitted firmly.

She’d barely even lifted her head before understanding what was happening. _Charles? You’re here too?_ _Do—_

But she cut herself short suddenly as the wooden door before her literally flew to the other end of the cramped room, snatching her attention. In the wake of the destruction, the tall, shadowed figure of a man Charles couldn’t feel appeared to stride inside without hesitation. He grabbed Raven by the arm, dragging her across the ground as she let out a startled cry of pain.

_Raven!_

“Hoist the colours!” Charles yelled, drawing his cutlass out of its leather scabbard. “Capture that ship, capture that bilge-sucking Lehnsherr! He has Raven.” He added more quietly as he climbed up the ratlines like many of his crew members, ready to pounce on their enemies as soon as they would be close enough. Just a few seconds more.

His friends roared like free men, their chest puffed with adrenaline. Ororo punctuated their cries with a tribal howl. His hands almost shaking with rage and growing trepidation, Charles joined two fingers to his temples and closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. Peace. Serenity among chaos and the swirling dance of blood.

“You hear yer cap’n?” Logan roared again from the poop deck, pointing at their enemies. “They have yer princess. Down with this lot of feaking drabs!”

Charles ignored the increasingly boisterous clamor, relegating them all to a slow murmur of crushing waves. Breathing in, and out, he located each one of their enemies he could get a hold on, and… in, and… out.

He squeezed their minds.

Half of the people on the deck fainted on the spot.

 _Now._ Charles ordered, opening up his eyes, which glimmered fiercely, like two whole skies ablaze.

Using their own gifts and abilities, the crew of the _Raven_ all leaped on the royal galleon at the same time. As usual, Logan was the first among them, and wreaked havoc upon the Westchesterian poop deck using his adamantium claws. He started by the captain, a middle-aged man who had served under Charles’ father but had quickly learned to love Kurt Marko’s expéditive handling of state affairs. Blood flew in every direction for a few seconds, until…

Until Erik the Red arrived on the main deck, holding Raven by the arm.

Before Charles could do or say anything, the stern-looking man extended his hand, and took a hold of Logan’s entire body. Dragged him across the deck, back and again, making him sweep the wooden floor comically until all enemies fell over the railguards and into the water, where sharks were waiting for them.

 _“Lehnsherr!”_ Wolverine bellowed in frustration.

Charles pursed his lips in anxious distress while Ororo ran to Logan’s side to try to prop him up. In vain. His body seemed glued to the floor.

What…? Then… That man’s mutation… Parrying a blow, Charles took a look at him and tried to study him without losing his nerves. Clad entirely in black, he was a tall, rather young athletic man. Built more like an assassin than an experienced sailor. It was impossible to say from the colour of his stubble if he had brown hair or if he was a redhead. His face seemed completely devoid of emotion; his eyes weren’t. By all means, they should’ve been red or jet black as bottomless pits but, from afar, the two narrow slits instead stood out as an indecisive, soft mix of green, blue and grey. Still they burned with ruthlessness and calculating wit. Furious at the world.

By the Gods, what was his mutation? If it had to do with the fact that half of the weaponry was blown in smithereens… Was it object-control? Or controlling _metal?_ How utterly captivating.

Nonplussed, Erik Lehnsherr remained standing and used his powers to turn the situation to his advantage. His heavy-looking coat was long enough to flap against his calves, and what Charles had thought was leather instead appeared to be thin giant cobra scales which he probably used to shield his elongated body. Underneath the coat, however, everything from his blasted tricorn hat to his pants was indeed made of plain, black-dyed leather. The legend said it was shark.

The legend didn’t warn Charles he had such narrow hips, or such a deliciously twisted way to smirk.

Captain Xavier dodged the next double blow just in time, and shamefully made up for his lapse in judgment by spinning and digging his elbow in a soldier’s solar plexus while he kicked another one in the chest. Alex finished them both by knocking them out with a blinding beam of plasma, which offered both men a second to breathe.

“Feack, Cap’n, I thought ya were a bit of a Miss Molly, but this bastard is _way_ more drama!” Havok panted, his pirate slur heightened by exhaustion. “I think he’s headin’ for the next pirate’s fashion show.”

Charles actually had to fight his way to the infamous mutant, whose eyes glinted with a flash of interest as soon as they spotted him. Had Lehnsherr guessed he was the captain, and not Logan? Worse: did he know how dear Raven was to him? Swirling between blades, Charles put two men to sleep and saw Erik the Red drawing out his long, curved sabre to walk purposefully in his direction, dragging a cuffed and wriggling Raven behind himself. Someone had gagged her since her brother had last seen her, and she looked quite upset about it.

“Hands off her!” Captain Xavier’s voice thundered as soon as they were close enough to be heard above the sound of battle.

“She’s _mine.”_ Erik replied in a growl, revealing a row of sharp teeth which gave credit to the rumour saying this madman was possibly half-shark.

“Certainly _not_.”

A split second before Charles could gather momentum and strike, Lehnsherr casually passed Raven to the red-skinned mutant which had previously been throwing soldiers into the sea. The rifter vanished, only to re-appear standing on the bowstrip farther away.

Raven hanging at the end of his arm.

Six yards above the water.

Charles stopped himself short and froze with his blade drawn, his eyes widening slightly as if shot.

His lips curving into an amused smile, Lehnsherr snickered, unconcerned, “Ahoy, your _Highness_. Nice to know it’s really you.”

 

*

 

That hesitant clarity — like the faltering light of a candle. The white shadow of the sun watched from underwater. It’s too faint to be voiced. We saw it in each other at the same time.

          Don’t lie, Charles, we did.  
                 Don’t run, Erik, you did.

No matter our birthplace, our birthright, our past or our hopes for the future. One soul collides, tentatively. Surprised. Cautiously.

Sitting handcuffed on thrones of bitter waves: the slave ruler, the ruling slave.

_“You won’t have to be hungry ever again, Raven, I promise you. You are my friend now. When I grow up, no one will have to die of hunger. There will be no slave, and no war at all. I don’t want people to suffer, you know.”_

_“Mutti!”_ _  
_ _“Alles ist gut, Erik.”_

It’s a bit too soon to say, my friend, but my mind feels like…  
                                                                                                    It’s been looking for you.

_Eins._

_“Run, Charles! They’re coming for you!”_

_Zwei._

_“You’re mine, now, mein klein Erik. Nowhere to lay but by my feet.”_

_Drei._

 

 

*

 

The mythical Siren was at the same time different, and so much more than the legends gave him credit for. Erik got proof of it not ten seconds into the start of their first conversation.

With the edge of his bloodied blade presently pointed straight under the exiled prince’s arrogantly raised chin, Erik went on, “If you don’t want your sister to belong to the _sharks_ , know what’s good for you. Step back and surrender your crew to me.”

“Sorry, Captain Lehnsherr,” he replied crisply, “but I’m afraid I can’t let my friends be slaughtered or sold to the first slave merchant you soulless bastards encounter.”

Erik startled. For some reason, he hadn’t expected a fellow mutant captain to believe he could kill or trade his own kind. Not that it was unheard of. Just take Shaw.

Charles Xavier saw his surprise, heard him chuckle. “I’m a filthy bastard alright, Xavier, half of the known world will tell you so. I’m just not the one you take me for.”

Now it was Xavier’s turn to blink. His intelligent eyes were indeed extraordinarily blue. Erik found himself reluctant to look away from them. He wondered if they mirrored the shades of the sky; if, at night, they turned languid and dark as dragon juice wine. That thought however made him remember the mutant’s twisted courting games, and he sobered on the spot.

Behind him, he heard Shaw’s bride grumble exasperatedly, like this conversation had her slowly losing the will to live. Both crews had stopped fighting and were watching the face off restlessly.

“So,” Erik continued, carefully sliding the edge of  his blade up and down Captain Xavier’s throat, “if you don’t make a decision, I’m going to count to three, _my prince_. Surely they teach you to count up to three in court, between two pretty low bows?”

He was expecting — he was _waiting for_ — a venomous, spiteful comeback, but it didn’t take more than a silent glance in Azazel’s direction for the mind-reader to turn the tables.

Without warning, Erik’s rifter suddenly reappeared by their side, like a picture book petulantly browsed backwards. Xavier had visibly swirled around Emma’s protecting spells.

“Oh, I haven’t been called a prince in _years_ , love.” the Siren’s teased with a devious little smile. Erik barely had the time to glance at it.

Before he could react, an emotionless Azazel abruptly drew his cutlass and dropped Raven to the floor. He began rifting all around Erik in successive puffs of smoke, assaulting him in earnest. All the while, Charles Xavier watched him with concentration, a small, smug grin rising on his corail-stained lips. Erik growled, wanting to rip the expression off him. Or feel the edges of those mocking lips between his fingers. The psychics’ smile turned ridiculously delighted when Erik — who was seriously starting to break a sweat — looked for a way out and finally managed to knock Azazel unconscious by bringing a mast in contact with the back of his head.

Adjusting the collar of his white shirt in order to hide the way his chest was heaving, especially in front of his whispering subordinates, Erik pouted appreciatively and admitted with fair-play, “Impressive.”

Discreetly, he readjusted his hand on his sabre.

“Thank you.” Captain Xavier nodded politely, enlivening the words with the insulting parody of a stiff court bow. But was he insulting Erik, or the royalty itself? “Now, hands off my sister, mate.”

Erik felt the other mutant’s fingers curl around the pommel of his blade. With another shark-toothed grin he waded in himself and struck out with all the speed he could summon. However, where he had expected the Charles Xavier to parry and attack, the pirate merely twisted his chest and swiftly evaded the blow. Stood up straight and ironic, with both of his arms — along with his sword — formally, _insultingly_ , folded behind his back. Completely at the mercy of the next blow. Erik froze, almost gaping, as he  feared for a second that the renowned mind-reader had managed to pierce through his psychic-proof tricorn to get to his mind. He didn’t take any risk; the next second, he twisted his grip on his blade and slashed the salted air athwart.

The same thing happened.

With a backwards little hop, the Siren eluded him. The ripples in his blank expression told Erik that the erstwhile prince was having a hard time remaining serious. Despite his best efforts, a quiver eventually made his lips tremble. His eyes were twinkling with mischief and something else, something like melted warmness. Fireflies waltzing around each other in the haze of summer nights.

Erik attacked again, and again, and again. Each time, he became more exalted and feverish as Xavier avoided his blows by turning his chest from the side with a calculated step back. Realizing he was starting to become predictable, Erik threw his sword to the floor like a boomerang and watched as another smile formed on that blasted man’s face; Xavier jumped without even altering his posture.

The blade returned to him bloodless.

Erik had expected a cheeky, witty, entitled excuse for an arrogant pirate; this was exactly what he got.

“You’ll have to try harder than that, darling.” He even had the nerve to taunt after the last failed attempt to touch him. They were now on another deck altogether, and Erik was panting slightly. “Hit me as if you mean to truly hurt me. From my point of view, it looks like you don’t really want me dead after all.”

It stung. The beginning of a flush on his own cheeks made Erik double-check that his hat was still firmly on his head. How could he… That princely whore.

Exposing a somewhat pale throat, Xavier turned his head from the side to address some of his younger crew who were overtly cackling, like baby crows cheering to get their mother’s approval. He couldn’t be a lot older than they were.

“I think the good captain likes me.” Xavier jeered aloud, to Erik’s humiliation.

Lehnsherr’s jaw hardened. Out of anger, he brought his sabre down harsher and more briskly than he’d done until then. The Siren managed to avoid his blow by a hair’s breadth, twisting his body to the side once again, though this time he let out a startled and playful, _“Oh oh!”_ which was obviously meant to infuriate Erik.

He couldn’t believe he was falling for it.

“Well, maybe I should use my powers if you insist on using yours.” He hissed through gritted teeth. The psychics _must’ve been_ using them, despite Erik’s tricorn.

To his credit, Xavier looked genuinely surprised as he rose his eyebrows innocently. It made lines appear on his forehead. “I’m not. Though I wouldn’t expect you to take my word for it, of course.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Honesty, Captain Lehnsherr.” He answered without missing a beat, blinking once. “But since you don’t give much credit to either decency or candor, maybe you could put that psychic-proof hat of yours on my head. I suppose I wouldn’t be able to use them at all, then.”

“Well, there’s one way to find out.”

Erik didn’t know what pushed him to do it; it wasn’t as if it was in his nature to be even remotely spontaneous or trusting. But there was something about Charles Xavier… Something vibrating between them like an invisible cord of a violin, like the ropes of windblown sails, and neither of them spoke of it, but it was blatant in the way they moved, didn’t move, and looked at each other. So before he could think better of it, Erik grabbed his leather tricorn, exposing his sweat-soaked black bandana, and stepped forward.

Dismissing the astonished whispers that rose all around them like a tide propelling thin waves on the sand, Erik analyzed the self-assured man before him. If anything, he looked a bit pleased — his smile softening wordlessly — but not shocked. Too late, Erik realized he could be deceived at any moment if Emma didn’t manage to protect him — she wouldn’t overpower the Siren, he knew as much now.

But Charles Xavier managed to remain immobile and look both royal and expectant as Erik stretched his arms around the shorter man’s head. The other captain waited patiently, his arms still crossed neatly behind his back, which prompted in Erik the impulse to tie them up in this position for good. It would teach him to be so reckless.

 _I am not so reckless as I am self-assured, Captain._ A voice replied in his head.

The fact that Erik was merely half-alarmed to hear the Siren’s chant in his mind was unnervingly telling. With only a look to the face which was suddenly — but without doubt, _purposefully —_ close under his, Erik dropped the leather tricorn on his head. Somehow, it ended up being too big for the mutant. It looked so ridiculous Erik almost snorted. The way it fell over Xavier’s forehead and right eye as his sanguine lips parted to giggle in a smirk snatched Erik’s attention away from the two main freckles which trimmed his slightly too large nose.

It lasted for about a second. The next, the Captain Xavier’s expression soured dramatically, as if he was in pain, or extremely disoriented. His sun-kissed lashes fluttered and Erik reached out to steady him with a firm grip on his elbow when he faltered dizzily. The sudden loss of such potent powers was no doubt disorienting.

“Are you okay?” Erik asked; he didn’t recognise his own voice. By all means, it wasn’t the one a pirate used to taunt a rival.

Pursing his lips, Charles Xavier nodded. Erik took it as his cue to consider that his role was done; he’d made sure his enemy was at his best to fight him. It would be a fair duel. Ignoring the scratching feeling of confusion, he turned around, stepped away. Drew out his sword again. The metal blade grated against its bronze scabbard.

“Good.” He declared. “I can’t have your crew riot when I kill you. You seem to entertain ideas about me, Xavier. I’ll cure you of those when my cutlass goes deep inside your guts.”

Already that damn teasing will-o-the-wisp was testing his balance by shifting his weight from one foot to another with both of his hands still behind his back, like an armless beastslayer getting ready to defeat a wild bear for the audience’s pleasure.

“Oh, it’s far too late for that, my friend.” Charles Xavier said calmly. “I know everything about you.”

That resonant certainty. Echoing once and deep against shaking walls.

“I’m not your friend.” was all Erik found to reply. Harshly. _Cocky bastard, lying through his teeth._ Xavier didn’t know him (he _couldn’t)_. He didn’t know _anything_ ( _"yet”,_ his instincts reasoned.)

But Erik the Red was reluctantly aware he was probably going to lose; the Siren had managed to instill doubt in his practical mind.

He was indeed too curious about Charles Xavier to kill him today.

 

*

 

_FIVE YEARS AGO_

 

_“ My dear Raven,_

_I hope this message will find you unharmed and safe from Kurt and Cain’s wrath. I beg you to be careful, for they may very well try to use you as bait. However, politics being what it is, I am confident they will not harm you. Considering that the Xavier heir has fled the palace_ — _I wonder what story they’ll come up with!_ — _they need the princess to endorse them. As things go, you shall be safe as long as you play their games. Be fierce and clever, and for the love of the Gods, do not be reckless. I shall come back for you soon — expect me in six months at the latest. I just need to reach Genosha. Westchester deserves better than a cowardly prince; nevertheless, I believe you were quite right last night when you told me that I was, I quote, ‘most useful to us alive than dead, Charles!’_

 _Your gifted little youngster is currently safe by my side. We are both safe as for now. I will urge her to be careful when she runs off to our secret place with this letter, but I assure you that no one has seen us leave, and not even the palace people will recognize her with that hood on her head. We both look like seasoned travelers, if you can believe it (you probably can’t). I am sure, however, that my lack of common sense is betraying me. Who knew you have to add water in the cooking pot when you cook hard-boiled eggs?? Truth is, the smuggler we met today quickly understood he had to do everything for me_ — _besides horse-riding and fighting_ — _if we ever were to reach the countryside alive. I am still unable to use my powers; I cannot even tell if he is trustworthy. Let us have faith. That poison they made me drink… I’m terrified I’m never going to get my powers back, Raven. Maybe you will find that anecdote amusing, seeing as, according to you, I have ‘always tried to become one of them’ (a human)._

_Oh, I must go. I shall write you another letter once we get closer to the narrows._

_Be fierce, Raven, and be clever._

_Your friend and brother,_

_C.F.X"_

 

 

*

 

“You’re trusting me to not use my powers to kill you and take over your ship? Now that you’re at my mercy?” Erik the Red scoffed scornfully as the screeching of blade scorching blade resounded on the ship. “How _naive_ of you.”

Rolling her eyes, Raven growled in a considerably unattractive fashion. The fabric of her gag stifled the sound. She couldn’t _believe_ that Charles, her own _brother_ , had forgotten all about her to go parading like a proud peacock in front of the Two Crown’s most wanted terrorist. And yet here he was, the debauched monarch-to-be, mirroring Lehnsherr’s every step, parrying effortlessly every attack with his curved sword and a royal hand resting above his royal backside. Half of the known realms probably knew what his arse looked like. She hoped he had crabs.

“Candor, Captain.” Charles reminded Lehnsherr. Her brother had mentioned candor earlier. Like, _ten minutes ago._ “Despite your best efforts, I must admit you possess some. It's a rather fetching look on you, Erik, if you’ll allow me to state it.”

Ugh, no. To top it all, he was calling the pirate by his first name now. Weird. Weird, weird, weird, weird… Glancing around herself, Raven tried to locate a sharp object that would help her sever the links that still trussed her up like a blue, wiggling sausage. Before their departure, Cain had made sure the ropes would be so cleverly entangled that she wouldn’t even get rid of them by shapeshifting. She struggled restlessly for another few seconds. That… snobbish… bas… _tard!_

At least now she would _literally_ be able to swear like a sailor.

Meanwhile, Charles’ embarrassingly blatant courting was seemingly affecting his opponent; the weapons' metallic symphony tripped suddenly, like a jerky, unexpected crotchet rest in a rushed score, and Lehnsherr cursed. He broke off the fight with a powerful upward strike. Was her brother _actually_ better than him?

“Did my remark somehow trouble you, Captain?” Charles gloated — no, _cooed_ — while Erik was catching his breath, glowering in the psychics’ direction.

The fearsome pirate quickly regained composure, however. He was no doubt remembering they had an audience. Blinking slowly, Captain Lehnsherr feigned an indifference he most likely didn’t feel. Adjusted his grip on his blade.

Said, “The rumours are true, then.”

Even Raven had heard the rumours. They had crossed the salted sea to be whispered among townspeople, like so many other tales before. Yet, by the time they’d reached the royal palace, Charles had somehow become a traitorous transgender witch. That day, Raven had been so exasperated she’d yelled in the middle of a diplomatic meeting that her brother had simply discovered he sometimes fancied being fucked in the arse, and that didn't make him a woman. So, yes, the High-Prince was _queer_ , godsdammit, did they have a problem with that? (Marko had not appreciated)

“Oh, very much so. They’re entirely true.” Charles answered brightly, shooting a flirtatious half-smile in Lehnsherr’s direction.

“Is that so?”

Even if Raven couldn’t see the expression on his face, the _Magneto_ ’s captain was slowly stepping closer, tantalizing. Commanding. He didn’t stop when Charles’ back hit the guardrails.

They were so close now, without their (literal) sharp blades standing between them, that the scene was getting excruciatingly awkward to watch. Charles, however, didn’t seem unsettled in the slightest. If anything, he merely leaned back against the guardrails, both of his elbows casually resting on the sturdy wood. 

Lowering his voice, Erik lifted the psychics-proof tricorn which was still on the other man's head, and continued, “Then, Captain Xavier… You are…”

“Aye, indeed I am.” Charles cut him off playfully, but he never saw what hit him when Lehnsherr ultimately finished his sentence.

“An arrogant fool.”

Before anyone could react, Erik pulled back and kicked Charles square in the chest, throwing him overboard in a split second. The look of sheer surprise on her brother's face vanished as he fell and hit the water with a splash, but almost everyone on the boat drew in a sharp breath or stepped forward, shrieking in shock. Her eyes blown wide in horror, Raven screamed through her gag.

“What?” Erik asked tonelessly, seemingly oblivious as to why everyone was breaking down.

“The _sharks,_ you utter moron!” Emma Frost exclaimed in a rare show of agitation. She was striding in his direction, looking concerned about the fact that they had maybe assassinated a prince (read: lost a valuable hostage).

But Erik reacted quickly.

"Shit.” He swore under his breath as he whirled back to the railguards, from where he peered into the sea.

Raven’s entire body felt so stiff it seemed like she would’ve been able to tear the ropes apart simply by tensing her muscles. This was a nightmare. Charles, oh Gods, _Charles!_

She waited anxiously, feeling frighteningly powerless.

“He lost my hat.” Lehnsherr stated after a moment; Raven inwardly swore to herself she would rip his eyes off as soon as she got the chance.

However, to her initial disbelief, the pirate soon snorted and rolled his body back up with a satisfied smile on his lips. “Attaboy, Xavier. Well done.”

What, _what?_ Through the sweaty cloth clogging her mouth, Raven insulted him profusely, although no one deigned to pay her muffled groans any attention.

And then. The faint sound of Charles’ sharp intake of air, breathing relief straight into his sister’s heart. She couldn’t see for herself what followed, so she took upon herself to try to set herself free with renewed vigour. The stench of rum that unconscious red rifter was blowing in her nostrils was too much to handle anyway.

 

As he resurfaced with the sharks swimming around him in a neat circle, Charles self-indulgently enjoyed the luxurious feeling of the water dropping off his hair, eyelids and chin. Every piece of heavy clothing on his back was currently trying to drag him down to the bottom of the ocean, but he was altogether relieved to be alive. Talking to squirrels in the cool seasons was one thing, but for a second he’d feared he wouldn’t be powerful enough to hold off a pack of hungry sharks.

Considering that a very particular mutant was presently radiating relief as he watched Charles with quiet pleasure, the mind-reader didn't seem to be the only one who had felt concern. What an exquisite man.

“Ahoy, there.” The mind-reader greeted mischievously, blinking salt out of his eyes.

But oh, he’d lost the tricorn! Without further ado, Charles dived in again (cautious about the sharks) until he managed to get a hold of the surprisingly heavy leather hat — which was made out of some sort of metal, apparently. It was such a brilliant item, it was undoubtedly dear to Erik.

When his head and shoulders broke the rippling surface of the water for the second time, the psychics was greeted with an outstretched arm waiting for him. Charles had already been beaming at Erik; it was his heart’s turn to soften and sing happily.

“You brought this on yourself, admit it.” The dry (on all accounts) pirate mocked.

Oh, what a charming transformation. Erik looked wickedly candid now, his unguarded toothy grin was quite delightful to watch. Charles eagerly grabbed his wrist. The light of the afternoon sun caught in the two faded silver rings his new friend wore on his fingers, but the grim armada of small tattoos ornamenting his hands interested Charles a little more. A former slave, then.

Their grip on each other was strong — if slippery — and the smaller pirate silently marveled at Lehnsherr’s ability to pull him up effortlessly.

“Thanks, mate.” Captain Xavier said as soon as one of his knees rested on the railguards. Now that the hostilities were definitely over, he introduced himself easily. “I'm Charles.”

(Not that his identity had been a mystery in the first place.)

“Erik.” The other man answered likewise — with tamed formality. Restrained friendliness.

That second. Gazing at you from up close. The wordless acknowledgement of what’s to come. You were never a stranger, were you? We saw each other on that sea, and from that point onward, we were anxious to befriend each other, as if we didn't know what else to be.

Do you feel it too?

 _I know you,_ our subtly lingering touch seems to say.

“Thanks, Erik.” Charles repeated, tapping him on the shoulder familiarly as he hopped onto the main deck. He put the damp psychic-proof tricorn back on the man’s head for good measure. A large amount of water trickled down Erik’s face. “We have a _lot_ to discuss, don’t we?”

“We do.” He agreed, smothering a laugh as he wiped his eyes clean. “ _Starting_ by—”

However, right when Erik was certainly about to be insufferable, a loud, groaning _“argh!”_ snatched both their attentions away from the conversation. They turned their head in unison to see a surprisingly free Raven kicking Azazel in the groin.

 _“That’s_ for treating me like I’m some sort of damsel in distress, you jerk! I’m working with you on my own volition, what was that for?”

While a dumbstruck Charles was croaking a very aristocratic _“Excuse-me?”,_ Erik chuckled wryly and explained loud enough to be heard, “We had to stop your brother from seizing that ship and you with it, Mystique. I’d heard from my brothers that you wanted to join us, but I had no way to know if you weren't in fact working for Marko. Forgive a man for being _cautious_.”

“You can go f—”

“Wait, can you all _hold on a second?”_ Charles interrupted. By the Gods, one sentence from his sister and he already had to massage an impending headache. Five years of vacations weren’t enough. “What the… What the fuck, Raven?”

“Wow.” His sister deadpanned, unimpressed. “That’s all you have to tell me? I’ve known you more articulate than that, Charles.”

“Oh, hush, I know. It’s been a long day.”

“That would be my fault.” Erik intervened, not looking contrite in the least.

His secretive little smile lured Charles in like a beacon guides lost sailors. The Siren saw his chance to get back to a conversation he would lead with obscene pleasure later that night.

“Oh, that’s quite alright, Erik. I was made to end up tired in soft sheets at the end of a hard, rough day. Tell me, what do you—”

 _“Charles!”_ Raven shouted — the poor doll looked borderline hysterical. “I’ve _literally_ been sold, tied up and dragged to the other end of the Silken Sea in a matter of days! Can you… not?”

The mind-reader had the decency to look contrite and slightly embarrassed. Erik analyzed that look with interest.

“Of course, Raven. I’m sorry. Let me escort you to my ship. I’ll—”

“She’s going on _my_ ship.” Lehnsherr rectified.

Oh, certainly not! “Sorry, my friend, but my sister is not in her right mind right now. There’s no way in the mirror-Hells she’ll embark with you. Let go, mate, will you? She’s…”

“ _She’s_ deciding what she wants for herself, thank you very much.” Raven chided in pointedly. “I’ll go with Lehnsherr when he leaves. Sorry, Charles. But I have to do something. He helps mutants, you know. He’s also _building an army_. An army to put an end to Shaw’s reign of terror! What did you do, Charles? What did you do for the last five years I’ve stood still and spied for you?”

Struck speechless, Charles pursed his lips when a syringe dug between his ribs to inject him with a dose of pain. Oh, how it hurt. How he needed to tell her everything. To ask her the questions that needed to be asked. But not now. Not here.

Surprisingly, Erik came to his aid and put an end to the conversation.

“I’m not setting sail until dawn. Our men fought well, Charles, I think we can offer them that one night of celebration.”

 _I think we can offer ourselves that one night_ , Charles read between the lines, not needing his gift to know what the mutant meant, or where they were heading.

Neither Charles nor Erik could predict where the sea would take them on the morrow. But they knew it would be to go their separate ways. Sailors were used to leaving people, they were used to casual friendships and relationships. Disposable matchsticks fueled their fires. Adventures and battles for freedom steadied their wandering dreams. Pirates thrive where the heart prevails.

Charles nodded. His features probably didn't conceal how aware he was that he'd surprisingly long for Erik when the man would set sail in a dozen hours.

But let's first revel in what the present has to offer.

“Hoist the mizzen!” Charles warned his crew, almost roaring; his posh accent made Erik puff disdainfully. “You’ll be drinking to your heart’s content tonight, my friends! Let’s all spend the night together. You’ve done well today. Loosen your heart, let it scream for the happiness it craves!”

“Let it scream!” Some members of his crew shouted back.

Ororo hooted gleefully. More cries followed. Azazel got up and eyed Raven appreciatively. Logan pestered against that blasted Erik Lehnsherr. Alex and Sean brought two barrels of ale from the royal galleon’s hold. “Just to start,” they said. The night came.

Erik observed Charles with wonder.

 

*

 

Tonight, as the bolstering war cries of the wind howls in victory in the wake of another successful battle, I am strangely looking for you;

As this night steadily turns into the liquored delirium of friendship and women, mingled with the addictive feeling of perilous freedom, I am looking for you;

After, as I sit alone by the figurehead, gazing at the stars that whisper and tremble under the wet, jet black veil of the moonlit sea, I am looking back for you.

You’re sleeping peacefully. You’re offering too much.

All my life, after all this, even as it makes sense to sail away... Even while our lives are so startlingly dissimilar… I’ll be looking for you.

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Wtf, dear author... Are you feaking shittin' me? Stoppin' that story right when it seemed to lead to a night of hot buccaneer sex? Why is it written like a bilge-sucking slow build??"
> 
> Well, first of all... How dare you speak to me like this? And then... _You're not supposed to know I came up with a plot for a +70,000 words story for this... so maybe subscribing for a sequel is a good idea..._  
>  To be completely honest, steamy smut and more provoking Charles/captivated Erik were indeed about to follow, but the deadline forces me to stop before... If you want it though... But madmalina's opinion will be final in the smut/no smut! :P
> 
> I hope you had fun! Please do give me your impression on this story if you feel like it!


End file.
